


Faramir's Quality

by AlexStone



Series: Tolkientober [16]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Parental Trauma, Tolkientober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27175126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexStone/pseuds/AlexStone
Summary: Éowyn finds Faramir in the Houses of Healing. Faramir steps out of the shadow of one life, and into the light of another.
Relationships: Merry Brandybuck/Éowyn, Éowyn & Faramir (Son of Denethor II)
Series: Tolkientober [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948141
Comments: 10
Kudos: 17





	Faramir's Quality

**Author's Note:**

> Tolkientober Day 22 - 'A Man.'
> 
> I've been full steam aboard Merrywyn recently, but I wanted to spend some time exploring Éowyn and Faramir's relationship-as-friendship. I've taken Faramir's quote about showing his quality as the launching point for this fic, which tells the story of Faramir in the Houses of Healing and beyond.

In healing there is transformation. Minis Tirith, a city healing, stood with outstretched arms beneath heavy fears and dark clouds. This city, which had stood for centuries and will stand for centuries more, had become a home destroyed, now rebuilding. Even as the last bodies were laid to rest, new foundations were being laid. Time, relentless in its march, continued to fall on the city like rain.

Faramir, a man possessed of a strange quality of kindness, turned his face upwards to feel the rain. The open veranda in the gardens of the Houses of Healing offered plenty of shelter from the seasons, but Faramir needed to feel the water against his skin. In part Faramir still felt oil, a sweet heaviness that preceded memories of heat. Yet in another part, the softer part, Faramir felt himself opening in that rain, like the lilies that bloomed in the veranda pools. 

That was the first time Éowyn saw Faramir. She had heard of the son of the steward, and the whispers of what he had suffered. She had imagined someone taller, more full in the shoulders, more able to bear cruelty. The man that Éowyn saw seemed smaller than his years, and gentler than the life he had lived. She watched Faramir in the rain as she crossed the veranda, and a realisation came to her. Éowyn had imagined that Faramir would be like her brother, when in truth he reminded her of herself, that secret part of her she protected from the world. Éowyn turned away and retreated into the Houses, and Faramir did not notice her passing.

Days passed before Faramir and Éowyn spoke. They noticed each other, in the manner of noticing a reflection, or a strange ghost. Somehow, even without words, they knew the selfsame wounds that injured the other. There is fear in recognition, and recognition in fear. 

Faramir was reading a book in a common area on the day Éowyn decided to break their silence. “You don’t look like a soldier,” Éowyn said.

Faramir closed his book and felt the memory of a smile cross his face. “That’s funny,” he responded, “you don’t look like one either.”

They did not speak again until that night, when Faramir approached Éowyn at the balcony overlooking Pelennor. There they stood, in silence at first, until Éowyn spoke again. She started quietly, her stories leading her to uncertain ground. Éowyn was at last unpicking the labyrinth she only now saw existed to guard her heart. She spoke of her brother, her life in Edoras, the hobbit that she loved, her uncle, so close as to be a father. She returned to her Théoden frequently, how they loved each other, how bitterly they had fought, how she had shared his final moments. She spoke until the first lights of dawn spilled across the horizon, illuminating their faces, forever changed.

In all this Faramir listened. How Théoden had doubted Éowyn, yet how she possessed a surefooted knowledge of his love for her. As light broke across the shining city, a great wall broke in Faramir’s heart. In silence, Faramir considered his qualities. In his thoughts and deeds he found himself possessing of kindness, bravery, loyalty, and compassion. Faramir did not understand why it was at this moment, in this time, he could finally see himself as a man with great capacity for goodness.

Our fathers make and unmake us. Faramir, unmade by his father, looked to Éowyn, made by her own. There, in the Houses of Healing, Faramir learned to truly breathe, unimpeded by the jealous insecurities of a man who could not imagine his son as worthy. What cruelty that was, to be denied love. A child can only grow up in a house such as that for so long until they believe that love is a thing bequeathed, and not the same living substance as air or water. Faramir had looked into his father’s eyes and never once considered fault other than his own.

It was many days before Faramir told his story. The road to healing is not straight, not short, and there are many parts we must walk alone. Éowyn saw this in Faramir and did not hurry him. They played chess, they listened to music, they walked alone and sat for hours considering nothing at all. When Faramir did speak his words were quiet and empty of resentment. Sometimes he spoke with Éowyn. Sometimes he spoke with the warden. Sometimes he spoke with the plants that, over the course of his stay, he had learned to cherish. All the while the sun continued its onward march, rising and falling, falling and rising, until each imagined future became remembered past.

Merry Brandybuck visited Faramir often, and they became fast friends. Faramir saw adoration in Merry, deep abiding love that can, will, must find a way home. They spoke often, of the fields of the White City, of the Brandywine’s slow course, and days they still hoped to see. It was a day like all other days when Faramir finally realised he could see the rest of his life spread out before him, and it no longer frightened him, because it no longer could.

Éowyn and Faramir went their different ways, lived their different lives, yet were still held in the gravity of each other. Faramir attended Éowyn and Merry’s wedding, and on that day there was no happier place in all the world. Under King Elessar, Faramir became the first of a long line of good stewards. In truth, few now remember the name of Denethor II, surpassed in all measure by his son, who possessed the most rare and precious kindness ever known to the world of men. This kindness, not innate by nature, not cultivated by upbringing, still grows and blossoms and bears fruit long after Faramir at last closed his eyes in a small cabin near the Brandywine. 

In the Houses of Healing there is a vine on the south portcullis. It is a mongrel thing, born from seeds shaken from the boots of Rohan, Gondor, and so many lands. It flowers rarely, with blossoms of silver white and fire orange. It has interlocked its long tendrils with iron bars, and no gardener will prune it, and no king will remove it. If you are to travel to these Houses, for whatever healing you may need, look to the south. You may, on the rarest of days, in the rarest of lights, see a man tending this vine. He will be smaller than you imagine, and in years you will struggle to place the details of his face. Yet in your darkest night, when healing is a distant shore and all around you is deep water, you will be visited by the ghost of a memory of a life still echoing.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter at @AlexStoneWriter! Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> You can find the full list of Tolkientober prompts here: https://twitter.com/hobbitgay/status/1311350783238045696


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